Corseting The Earl Read online

  Corseting the Earl

  by

  Killarney Sheffield

  Digital ISBNs:

  EPUB 9781772990775

  Kindle 9781772990782

  WEB 9781772990799

  Print ISBN 9781772990805

  Copyright 2016 by Killarney Sheffield

  Cover art by Michelle Lee Copyright 2016

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  Dedication

  For all those women who would secretly love to torture their significant others in women’s fashion for a day. Come on, you know you would!

  Chapter One

  The minister droned on and on, his voice punctuated here and there by the drone of a bee, or particularly large fly. The stale odor of perfume, sweat and pew polish assaulted her dry sinuses. Fighting the urge to sigh, Pippa peered around the church. Old Mrs. Phelps was asleep in the second pew, her chin to her chest, a bright orange hat covered in yellow birds tilted to the side and in danger of falling off altogether. She stifled a giggle and glanced back at Mr. Henny in the fourth row. Though his gaze was fixed on the ceiling, she knew he was paying close attention to the sermon of hell-fire and sin that was a regular favorite of the minister. She flipped open her fan as a trickle of sweat slid down her cheek. A cool dip in the pond would be most welcome right about now. Turning her attention back to the front she focused on the back of Mitchel Land’s head. His golden, cherub like curls were perfect as always. There wasn’t a girl in town who didn’t fawn over those delicate ringlets, or envy them.

  Her fingers twisted in the limp ruffle on her dress. How would he take her news? Her stomach wound into a matching knot. He loved her, she knew he did. Had he not professed it on many occasions beneath the old oak tree by the pond? They would run off to Gretna Green and be married. A sigh of heady expectation escaped her. She could not wait for their lives to begin. No more lowly shop keeper’s daughter. Her new home would be the impressive mansion on the hill overlooking the town. Everyone would look up to her. She would be treated with the utmost respect, no matter her marriage was a little quick. Yes, she would be the Honorable Mrs. Philippa Land.

  The minister finished his sermon to a heat wilted round of “amen.” Pippa stood and followed her family from the quaint little church in the middle of town. As usual they were surrounded by well-wishers enquiring about her father’s leg, and she took the opportunity to slip away. Upon spying Mitchel heading around side of the church she followed, hurrying to catch up with him.

  “Mitchel,” she called in a soft voice, least she draw the attention of the elders gathered by the steps.

  Mitchel turned, his tawny eyes sparking with annoyance. “Good day, Philippa.”

  It struck her as odd he did not greet her with closeted affection. Was he angry with her for cutting their last secret meeting short? She smiled her sweetest smile. “I wanted to tell you something.”

  He glanced around and then frowned, his eyes now devoid of emotion. “I have found someone new, Philippa.”

  Pippa stood in stunned silence. It took a minute before she found her tongue and glared at him, her fingers clenching in the skirts of her pink Sunday best muslin. “You are just being sore because I cut our last tryst short and my papa didn’t invite your father to the harvest dance.”

  Mitchel picked an imaginary speck of lint off his fine blue wool waistcoat. “Ha, why my father would not soil his gloves at one of those peasant squalls. Besides, you know he would not approve of me courting a merchant’s daughter. It is far beneath my station, you know.”

  It was at that moment Philippa wondered just what she had ever seen in the stuck up squire’s son. Surely, he was handsome, his golden curls, soft face and dimples marking him as easily the best looking boy around, but was that all he had going for him, besides his father’s wealth? Had she had stars in her eyes when he paid her favor? Oh, how could she have fallen for him? And now she was in trouble and she doubted he was the one to help her. Papa is going to be so angry with me….

  If the crowd of well-dressed church goers mingling about the steps should hear, it would be a disaster. She glanced at the older lady with a quizzing glass dangling from her bony fingers and grimaced. Mrs. Peabody delighted in spreading rumors, and this one would be extra juicy, to say the least. Screwing up her courage she stepped closer and lowered her voice. “Mitchel, I am with child.”

  His normal droopy eyed expression widened, his cornflower blue eyes practically bulging from their sockets. “Are you sure?”

  With grim conviction she nodded. “I missed my monthly and…well, I have felt queasy three mornings in a row. I almost spewed at my mother’s feet this morning, but excused myself in time to wretch out behind Mrs. Tow’s chicken coop under the guise of helping search for her missing hen.”

  Mitchel’s face paled, making his golden curls seem brassy. “But we only…rolled in the hay once…. ’Tis entirely unlikely the child is mine.”

  Fury rose in Philippa at his betrayal. “Of all the nerve!” She glanced over at the crowd by the steps in time to see Mrs. Peabody raise her quizzing glass to her eye. Lowering her voice she hissed, “You know well and good I have never given myself to any other. I am not that sort of female.”

  He gave her a smug look. “Do I? You gave yourself to me now, didn’t you?”

  “That was different and you know it! Why, you led me to believe you were going to ask my father for my hand, you lying cad,” she whispered.

  “As my father would say, why buy the cow when you can have the milk for the taking, Pippa?”

  Despair and anger swirled inside and she fought to keep from either pummeling him with her fists, or bursting into tears. “I will tell your father and he will insist you marry me.”

  Mitchel laughed at her childish whine. “As if my father would believe the sad tale of a mere merchant’s daughter. Why, he knows I’ve been courting Miss Hardisty for many months now. He will simply cast aside your lies and your reputation will be quite tarnished. Your poor parents will be devastated that you would try and blame your fallen virtue on one so much more above your station. Why, I bet they would be shunned by the whole town as well.” His eyes narrowed. “I would see you and yours run out of this town, Pippa, before I would admit to that child being mine. Just think how it would hurt your parents, their only daughter, carrying a bastard in her belly. How dreadful.”

  This nasty side of Mitchel’s personality was one she had never seen, and she didn’t like it one bit. Pippa pulled herself up tall and looked him in the eye. “Oh, but just think of the damage to your reputation if I insist this child is yours, Mitchel. Why, your precious Miss Hardisty, second daughter of an earl, would refuse your suit before you could blink.”

  He snagged her wrist and twisted it. “You would not dare.”

  She swallowed, trying hard to be brave. “I would.”

  Scowling, he tightened his grip until she whimpered in pain. “Do you ever wonder what happened to Mary Baglo, Pippa?”

  “She—she ran off.”

  “Did she? What if I told you she did not run away? Hmm?” He reached out and ran a gloved finger down her cheek. “She claimed to have found herself in very much the same position as you.” When she gasped, he smirked. “Oh yes, the silly chit thought to tell my father and anyone else who would listen, but I stilled her tongue. After I strangled her, I stuffed her in a burlap sack weighed down with rocks, and sunk her in Chester’s Pond
.” An evil sneer rode his thin lips. “So much for telling her little tale, eh?”

  “You lie!” Lips quivering she glanced over her shoulder, hoping no one suspected their volatile conversation, yet at the same time wishing someone would and come to her aid.

  When she caught her father’s eye he motioned to her and then said good-bye to the pastor and his wife. “Pippa, come along now.”

  Pippa jerked her wrist from Mitchel and rubbed it. “I do not believe you.”

  Mitchel sniggered. “Meet me this afternoon on the west side of the pond and I will prove it to you then.”

  Her father’s voice, ripe with annoyance, interrupted her retort. “Pippa, I will not wait all day.”

  “I have to go.” With that she hurried in the direction of her mother and father.

  Her father shifted on his crutches as she approached with a disapproving look. “Pippa, ’tis bad enough you were talking to a boy unchaperoned, but to keep me waiting when you know how badly my leg pains me, is just inconsiderate.”

  Pippa resisted the urge to snap at her father, sparing him the anger caused by her own foolish predicament. “I am sorry, Papa.”

  “Really, dear, I am sure there is no harm done talking with a boy in a public place such as church,” Pippa’s mother interjected and then guided him to the less crowded sidewalk. “Come along now, you are just being cross because it is time for your dose of laudanum. I know you are sore darling. Do not take your temper out on Pippa. After all, ’tis not her fault you tumbled off the ladder now.”

  Pippa grimaced as she followed behind her tut-tutting mother. It pretty much was her fault, actually. If her bulky skirts hadn’t interfered with her ability to climb the ladder to reach the dried berries on the top shelf needed for a customer, it would have been she on the rickety ladder. And, if she had to admit it, if she had not been focused on Mitchel escorting Miss Hardisty down the street past the store window, she might not have failed to steady the ladder when it tilted, spilling her father to the floor, thus causing him to break his leg. As usual she had caused a disaster…and if word got out she was with child, another one would instill. What am I going to do?

  She glanced over her shoulder and caught Mitchel’s eye. With a sneer he pinched the bridge of his nose and held his breath as if diving. No, she couldn’t tell, for though part of her didn’t believe Mitchel’s claim of murder, she couldn’t refute it either. After all, Mary had simply vanished without a trace. Even her parents claimed to have no idea where.

  Pippa returned her gaze to the sidewalk. Her parents would cast her out when they learned she was with child. And she couldn’t very well tell them it was Mitchel’s and see them lose everything. And even if Mitchel’s father did believe her story, did she really want to be forced into marriage to a murderer? Her only option was to run away, but where and how, without any coin?

  Her mother drew her alongside. “Oh Pippa, darling, I quite forgot to tell you. Your cousin, Marcy is getting married. Now, I had promised your Aunt Beth I would help with all the arrangements, but, well, I see no way to leave your poor father in such a state, so I offered you in my stead. I know you have simply been dying to get out of this town and see something of the world. You will take my place?”

  Dying to get out of town was an understatement. She shivered and then smiled at her mother. “I would be delighted to go in your stead, Mama.” At least a month away attending the wedding details would buy her some time to come up with a plan.

  Chapter Two

  Philippa pushed a wisp of wavy chestnut hair behind her ear for the third time. As usual it had already escaped her tidy bun. What she wouldn’t give for smooth golden curls like Mitchel’s. If she were to be honest, that is what had attracted her and every other girl in the village, to him in the first place.

  “Mayhap I should not let you go, Pippa. You are so young and naïve for such a long journey alone.”

  Roused from her mental wander, Pippa sighed and then smiled at her mother. “I will be fine, Mama. What could possibly happen to me on a public coach?”

  Her stout mother straightened Pippa’s bonnet. “I suppose you are right. I would not even consider you going in my stead, but with your dear pa laid up with a broken leg, there is no other choice.”

  “You worry too much.” Philippa pressed a light kiss to her mother's cheek. “I will be fine. Aunt Beth needs me to help with Marcy’s wedding plans.”

  “You should be the one getting married, dear.” Pity marred her mother’s expression.

  Philippa bit her lip. If her mama found out her secret, she would be thrown from her own door. “Mama, please.”

  Her mother’s normally sweet features turned stony and sour. “I still cannot believe the squire’s boy threw you over for the earl’s second daughter. Why, the pock faced girl can barely fit through the door. What does she have to offer compared to you?”

  With a black look Philippa held back her answer. Money. Who wants to marry a poor shop keeper’s daughter? “Mama, I will make a far better match when Papa gets back on his feet.”

  “Of course you will, dear. Anyway, your brother Samuel’s wife will be here in a day or so to help me in the shop, and by Yule time your Papa’s leg will be mended.” She patted Philippa’s hand with a twinkle in her eye. “Besides, there is a good chance you might meet a fine young man in Bracenville.”

  “Perhaps so, Mama.” The rumble of wagon wheels outside announced the arrival of the neighbor who was to see her to the coach station on the outside of town on his way to the mill. “The Beckers are here, Mama, I better go.” Giving her mother a last kiss on her cheek she picked up her carpet bag and hurried downstairs.

  Her father sat in his worn chair in the cozy parlor, his leg propped on a crooked three legged stool. “Are you off on your adventure, Pippa, my darling girl?”

  “Yes, Papa.” Philippa stopped to kiss his forehead. “Do not be too cross with Mama’s hoovering. You know she loves you.”

  He brushed her away with a light-hearted scowl. “The woman will be the death of me yet.”

  She laughed. “You say that, but you would be lost without her, Papa, admit it.” She took in her father’s profile. A right handsome man he still was, though a little grey at the temples; his dark hair still shined with a blueish luster, his jaw clean of whiskers, strong and square. His eyes were unforgettable dark green orbs flecked with gold, which danced in the light. Mama hadn’t cared that marrying a mere Irish merchant was a social faux paus. It was no wonder her mama had fallen head over heels in love with him. So much so she gave up everything to become his wife. Pippa could only dream of a love that strong.

  Papa broke her musing with a chuckle. “Aye, God favored me the day I was smitten by your ma’s smile. Now get on with you. You packed the new dress I got you for your birthday?”

  “Yes, Papa, but I wish you would not have spent such a costly sum when we can ill afford it right now.”

  He grinned. “I want you to look nice, in case you meet some fine young man in Bracenville.”

  She squeezed his hand. “I know, Papa. I will see you in a few weeks.” With that she headed for the door, tears welling up in her eyes. She had never been away from home for more than a night in all her twenty years, and the idea was a little disconcerting. When she stepped from the house she found Mr. Becker loading her trunk. He gave her a stern look and then took her carpet bag and set it in the wagon box too. Holding out his hand he helped her in to perch on the trunk for the ride to the other end of town, where the mail coach would arrive. His six girls, ranging in age from two to thirteen, sat amidst the straw lining the wagon bed.

  Clara, the oldest smiled. “Ma says Bracenville is within a day’s ride of London.”

  Her father climbed up onto the wagon seat beside his thin wife and snapped the reins to urge the mule team forward.

  “Yes, it is.”

  The girl’s eyes widened. “Will you get to go to a big ball there?”

  Philippa smiled. “No, I am afr
aid not. I doubt I will even see London. There are many things to do to get ready for my cousin’s wedding.”

  “Someday I’m gonna’ go to London.” Clara glanced at her father's back. “I’m gonna’ marry a prince,” she whispered.

  Resisting the urge to laugh Philippa smiled instead. “A prince only marries a princess, Clara.”

  The girl shrugged. “I’ll marry someone very rich there, one day.”

  Philippa let the comment slide and rearranged the skirts on her rose-colored traveling dress. Her mind wandered to the emerald green confection of silk and gold ribbons her father presented her for her birthday. It was by far the prettiest gown she ever owned. She felt like a princess just trying it on. Her mother packed the delicate item in tissue paper and placed it on top of all the things in Philippa’s trunk so it would not crease on the journey. She was hard pressed not to take it out again and again over the last few days to run her fingers over the expensive fabric. It was her good fortune the lady who commissioned the dress decided against it at the last moment. Though her father still paid a large sum for the outfit, he managed to purchase it at a drastically reduced price. Still, knowing how tight things were this year, with her father’s broken leg; Philippa could not help feeling guilty over something she would only wear once at her cousin’s wedding. Or possibly her own wedding someday, her mother had gushed. Too bad that was unlikely to happen now. Who would wed a girl with loose virtue, never mind one with a bastard child in tow? She had made a terrible mistake thinking Mitchel loved her. Mitchel loved Mitchel, period.

  She scanned the town. A single street housed a bakery, their general store, the cobblers, inn, dressmaker, church, blacksmith-livery, mill and the boarding house. The town was the only one she had ever known, and she was excited to see what delights a larger one like Bracenville offered. She clutched her mother’s reticule to her which held the precious two shillings she saved from helping teach Sunday school. It was not much, but she hoped enough to purchase a new pair of gloves to go with the fancy dress. The short-capped sleeves could not hide the age of her worn gloves. She glanced down at the small stain on them, partially hidden by the sleeve of her traveling dress, and moped.